


Dreaming of You

by EitherOreo



Category: Carol (2015), Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Eventual Sex, F/F, Lesbian Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EitherOreo/pseuds/EitherOreo
Summary: Therese is distant and distracted. Carol worries what it means. Lou Miller travels to the 1950s.





	1. Chapter 1

Carol Aird tidies up her desk organizing purchase agreements, delivery schedules and specifications for a green tufted sofa, an over sized armoire and walnut credenza, tending to the ever-changing demands of a fastidious new client. It’s not how she prefers spending her time, stuck here late on a Friday at the furniture house where she works on 4th Avenue.

She pushes a lit cigarette into an ashtray, anxious to get home, needing to talk to her lover, Therese Belivet, about how something between them feels off, not quite right. The weight of it on Carol for days. Though she's hinted at the topic several times, her concerns are repeatedly trivialized.

The cab ride home is arduous, Friday night traffic heavy and Carol pensive, gazing out the window, her fingers pressed together nervously. The strange mood at home weighs on her, a mood that began days ago after a seemingly harmless exchange, Carol introducing Therese to a co-worker as her “roommate.” Carol instinctively used the unhomely word, reducing their relationship to a mere domestic arrangement, the antiseptic manner of Carol’s delivery, in particular, triggering a wound in Therese. “I’m trying to protect you, my darling. That woman’s a nosy body. I’d like to keep her out of our hair to say nothing of our bed.”

“Don’t try to explain it, Carol.” Therese looked away from her, the start of a distance between them that’s still gathering ground.

“Maybe one day” Carol tried to apologize, defending her position, “but you’re foolish if you think we can be so honest and free.“ Carol flipping her head, about to say more, on the verge of the unwelcome terrain of their age difference: recklessness of youth counter to the sensibility that comes with her greater maturity. A topic for which Therese has previously shown little tolerance.

Ever since the introduction there's an oddness, a pullback from Therese, Carol noticing it mostly in the morning, a sheepish look upon waking. “Darling, did you not sleep well?” Carol moving hairs from the girl’s eyes.

“Yes. Fine. Why do you ask?” A suspicion in the answer, malaise of someone being caught, a distraction in the young woman as she rolls out of bed and dresses, Carol watching uncomfortably, trying without success to get at the heart of the matter.

“Are you sure everything is fine?”

“Yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? I just need to get to work early.” A chaste kiss on a cheek and Therese with hesitation, as though needing to tell Carol something, but pulling away. Doubt hangs in the room after she closes the door leaving Carol preoccupied with a preoccupation … with something … or someone.

\--------------

The apartment is dark when Carol finally arrives home from work. She removes her long red overcoat and hangs it in the entryway closet beside Therese’s cream-colored coat. The apartment is empty, she surveys the living room, disappointed the young woman’s not in her usual spot reading in a chair by the window, her nose stuck in a book or magazine about modern photographic techniques.

“Therese, you home?” Carol pours herself a drink, something strong, strong enough to give her the courage she needs to revisit the situation between them. Her head tilted back she takes a hearty sip, a soft moaning sound emanating from the back bedroom before her glass is set back on the counter.

The noise is a distinctively familiar one to Carol's ears, a sensual “oh” she’s heard before, a unique expression of passion she’s pulled masterfully from Therese on numerous occasions with both of her hands plastered on the girl’s hips, her mouth on wet lips before a meandering descent. She follows the sound, a trail of cooing and soft moaning, Carol on a collision course with what she fears she’ll find in the bedroom, more certain of it with each step, horrified of what she suspects, ready to uncover it between the sheets of her own God damned bed.

Her heart pounds, footsteps stealthily quiet, moving forward toward the truth as the pleasured moaning intensifies. Carol reaches the edge of the bed relieved to discover Therese quite alone and quite asleep.

“Oh. Please.” A twitching face, Therese’s voice small and strained, Carol pleasantly watching, contemplating sliding in bed beside the girl. “Oh” the moan grows more pained and Carol’s aching arousal too. She begins unbuttoning her own blouse, an excitement at the prospect of participating in what is clearly a dream. “Lou” Therese says, her voice like a punished child who's about to turn tearful before receiving a spanking, her head turned gently to the side groaning. “Oh. LOU.” Carol’s fingers freeze on the final blouse button.

“Lou?” A smirk turns irk, body posture fully rigid beside the bed. Therese half wakes, letting out the remainder of a satisfied whimper, a breath exhaled within an upturned smile. She opens her eyes. Before her stands the thoroughly dismayed image of Carol with blouse and mouth wide open. “Who the hell’s Lou?” A hand rising indignantly on a hip.

\---------------

Carol flips on the light in the bedroom, Therese caught, an “um, um” and a confused face fully bared, stammering, a tingling sensation all over her body still from the dream. Buttoning her blouse, fingers shaky, Carol backs away from the bed.

“You’re having an affair, aren’t you? Now I know why you've been acting so strange lately."

“What?” Therese rubs her eyes, maybe it will make this all just another dream. She’s adjusting to the light, an interrogation about to be shone inside her salacious subconscious.

“You were tossing around all bothered in your sleep whimpering the name Lou.” Carol’s features chilled, one eye narrows. She waits with her blouse and mouth now tightly shut. Therese squirms, preparing to face Carol and the truth head on. “Lou’s a man? You’re seeing a man?” Carol's initial fears tip toward anger.

“No.” Therese sits up, her hair as messy as what she’s about to explain. “Carol. Please. Just sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“YOU’RE nervous? You’ve been so distant with me. This is why, isn’t it?” Glacial, slow-moving thoughts of all she’s sacrificed to live here, be with this woman, turn Carol colder.

“Come here. Sit down. Please.” Therese pats a spot beside her on the bed. “Let me explain.” Carol sits apprehensively, her eyes on a photo Therese took of her daughter, the picture framed and hanging on an opposite wall. Carol remembers the day the photo was taken, how present and loving Therese was that day. She shakes her head, a burst of frustrated air and her focus solely on Therese, waiting for news she's sure will crush her. 

"Don't be jealous." Therese strokes a polished coral-colored fingernail on Carol’s hand, moving her finger carefully across the slick surface, back and forth, wanting to hide there as long as possible collecting the delicate explanation required.

“Get it over with, tell me, who is Lou?” Carol pulls her hand away, her eyes meet Therese’s rueful, guilt-ridden face.

“I’ve been having dreams. For days now. About a woman.”

Carol’s lips quiver hearing it. “A woman?" A drop in her voice. "Oh. I see.” She feels the room closing in, a constricting sensation fills the walls of her chest. She can barely breathe, let alone speak. "She's younger, isn't she, this _woman_?"

“Carol, wait ... listen ... and no. I'd say she's exactly your age.” Therese places a hand gently on Carol’s arm “I don’t even know her. Suppose I just dreamt her up. Her name is Lou ... this _woman ..._ in my dreams. And she’s … fabulous.”

“Christ. You're dreaming of Lou.” Carol whispering under her breath. She shudders, wanting this woman "undreamt." The color of her face grays.

“Wait. No, it’s not what you think. I didn't want to tell you about the dreams, I should have,   days ago. I suppose I'm embarrassed and I didn't want you to be hurt.” Therese seeing how she’s injuring the love of her life becomes more flustered. "I don't understand why I keep dreaming her."

“What’s not to understand? You're fantasizing about someone else." Carol shrugs as though she's just heard an explanation of the most rudimentary concept.

“Carol, you're not getting it. She's you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. She looks exactly like you, only different.”

“What?” Carol’s face more confused but gaining color.

“She’s not only the spitting image of you, she's very confident too, walks around shaking her head at everyone. You know, the way you do?”

“Shaking my head?”

“Well, no, I suppose not exactly shaking your head, but that kind of confidence, yes, definitely. It's all very much you.”

“Go on.” Carol's body relaxing, her shoulders less tense.

“She dresses differently, in suits, the kind like men wear.”

“Men’s clothes?”

“No, not exactly, they’re beautifully masculine AND feminine, like nothing I’ve ever seen. Her pants are made of wonderful fabrics, the kind you order for expensive sofas: velvet and leather, all in a rainbow of colors. Deep reds and blues and delicious, delirious dark green. She wears all her pants very tight, like they are her own skin.”

Carol moves in closer. “ _Well._ Do tell me more.”

“She wears men’s ties too, they hang loosely around her neck and drop down, you know, in between her …” Therese places a few fingers timidly on Carol in the exact location where the length of Lou’s ties dwell, in between her breasts.

“Uh huh. I see.” Aroused, a queer smile overtakes Carol.

“And vests.” Therese speaks with increasing rapidity, Carol looking equal parts amused and intrigued. "She wears vests, Carol, like men, but colorful and tight-fitting and with absolutely nothing on underneath.” Therese's eyes widen at the very "reimagining" of Lou's wardrobe.

“Nothing underneath? Well, wouldn’t that be something?”

“Oh, yes. It is ... something.” Therese relieved to finally share the erotic bedfellow who’s slept between them for days.

“It’s not just her face either, Carol … “ Therese’s voice lowered “... she has your body too.” A flush of color on cheeks, the nature of Therese’s fantasy woman coming into full frontal view.

“My body? What makes you say that?” 

“Oh, I’ve seen her. All of her.”

“Well. You have, have you?”

“Down to the shape of her breasts … she’s every bit YOU.” Therese’s eyes linger on Carol’s chest, a hand on her chin lifts her back up to eye level, Carol smiling mischievously. “Her hair’s lighter and longer, but her body, against mine” Therese grins shyly, “it feels just like yours.”

“This is all very specific, isn’t it, darling? Where do you suppose she’s from, your Lou?”

Therese sits up straighter. “The future.”

“Really now?” Carol smiles the way she does after her daughter says something cute. “Well, she can’t very well be from the 1950s. She does sound very ... modern."

"Yes. I know she's not from this time because in my dreams, we're out, in public, together. She kisses me and holds my hand. Carol, Lou doesn’t give a damn what other people think.” Therese looks away, smarting still from the roommate introduction.

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry.” Carol shakes her head, the same apology she'll make over and over for the rest of their lives for similar introductions and behaviors Therese won't accept, a sadness in Carol's manner, playing mindlessly with the edge of Therese’s sleeve, softening both of their positions on the matter.

“Lou takes me for rides on her bike.” Therese smiling again. 

“Her bike?” Carol chuckles.

“Yes, but it's not the kind you’re thinking of. She rides a motorcycle, it’s often how she appears in my dreams, riding out of nowhere and telling me to ‘get on.’”

“Get on?”

“On the bike.”

“Of course she would.” Carol playing along as though she too’s well acquainted with Lou.

“I wrap my arms around your waist and we ride off together.” Therese describing the dream as she sees it. With Carol. Always Carol. "Lou's simply you, Carol, packaged a little differently. And it's always us, on that bike, heading together." Therese's eyes look on the verge of tears. Carol squeezes her hand. “And you’re fearless, taking us on wild rides across terrifying, winding roads. Some at the edge of the sea, waves crashing at the bottom of cliffs and you shifting gears effortlessly, the wind in your hair, my mouth. I’m not afraid though, I just hold on tighter, to you, my body pressed harder against your strong, muscular back.” Therese reaches her arm around Carol, caressing her through the fabric of her blouse. Carol closes her eyes and smiles, content and eager to let Therese’s fingers find the buttons of her blouse one-by-one, opening them and the hooks behind Carol too, twisted and turned, freeing all of her, fabric loosened until Carol’s undressed above the waist.

Therese’s eyes and hands study Carol's bare flesh, lips and tongue finding her, exploring a reaffirmed commitment, about to make Carol the one doing all of the moaning.

\-------------------

“Can I help you?” an eager saleswoman in cat eye glasses greets Carol on the top floor of Frankenberg’s department store.

“Yes. I wonder if you wouldn't mind helping me find a gift. I’m shopping for a tie and a vest” Carol says, distracted, standing in the middle of the men’s department thinking entirely of what she plans to do in a vest and tie, later, with a woman.

“Shopping for your husband are you?” the meddlesome, overly cheerful woman pointing out a long rack, a veritable candy store of men’s ties for Lou to wear to bed.

“Husband? Heavens no” Carol says shaking her head up and down with the kind of bravado the shop woman’s only ever seen coming off a man.

“I like the tie” Carol says pointing to a burgundy one she's chosen with swirling green patterns, she lays it between her breasts, modeling it with a seductiveness that renders the stodgy woman speechless. Carol shakes her head up and down again, chuckling dismissively, a sinful smile suggestive of things that would make the saleswoman pass out from impropriety. “It’s for me” Carol winks, twirling the tie, walking away with it swaying at her side. She disappears into a rack of men’s vests leaving the woman standing in the middle of an aisle.

\-----------------------------------

Therese is dressing when Carol returns home quickly hiding the Frankenberg’s bag in the entry closet.

“Did you sleep well, my darling?”

“Oh, why yes.” Therese smiles. “I was dreaming of you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams turn into reality.

Carol examines the vest she purchased, the silk lining of the garment slippery against her long fingers, the outer wool fabric coarse as it comes in contact with her palm and thumb. The necktie was easier to select, none of the men’s vest inventory fitting Therese’s specific description of “Lou’s” flamboyant style and lush, body-hugging fabrics. It’s all quite a tall order, this choosing the attire of a fictitious character who inhabits her lover’s dreams.

She smiles, processing her own smoldering Lou jealousy from the prior day, revisiting the way Therese leaned in, delicately holding her arm, consoling her with a familiar, authentic sweetness, the one that she fell in love with on their first meeting, Therese reassuring her of the nature of the fantasy: “Carol, she’s you.” It makes her previously volcanic reaction turn into a soft, warm oozing contentment.

The particulars of the vest design she settled on constitute tartan plaid in dark green with muted blue highlights. Therese seemed positively giddy about Lou sporting deep green, the word “delicious” in a breathless, animated manner when describing the vibrant color.

The vest is held up against her chest, making her satisfied with the decision to purchase the smallest size available. She’d surely be doing the backstroke, swimming in any of the other sizes offered and God knows that’s hardly the mood she intends to set: drowning in over-sized men’s clothing. No, it’s the breaststroke she’ll swim tonight with fabric skimming her body, as she’s told it does Lou’s, highlighting the shape God gave _them._ It’s Therese who’s the intended swimmer wading through a sea of her own fantasy.

Carol pulls off her tight-fitting cashmere sweater, static electricity sending sparks and zapping sensations to her hands and causing her hair to stand on end. She just washed it out and dried it without any styling, no waves or curls, letting it take on its natural straightness. She’ll have at least another hour before Therese returns, stepping out to meet a friend from work for a night cap. “Come with me?” Therese had insisted, but Carol deviously shooed her away with a fabricated headache.

“No, no. You go on. I’ll rest my head while you’re gone.” Seconds after the front door closes Carol's dashing into the loo to begin the Lou transformation.

First, she removes her bra by swinging her arms behind her back, the garment dropping quickly to her feet where she leaves it, bralessness quintessential to becoming the other woman. She slithers sans bra into the vest, its silk lining cold against her stomach, back and the sensitive protruding nipples of her breasts that rub against the cold, stiff fabric, her fingers beginning to fasten the gold vest buttons. She stands straighter, assessing herself in the mirror, shaking her head in the self-satisfied way Therese described this imaginary woman. "I must be crazy" Carol talking not to herself, but to the image, her head tilting, emboldened by how sexy she feels leaving the vest's top two buttons completely open. "Well. Hello there Lou." 

The tie is easier to work with than she’d expected, muscle memory of her ex-husband’s ties, neatly fashioning them around his collar while he watched her contentedly, his hands wanting to reach for her in places she kept buttoned down, faking his own incompetence so he could watch her pull the ends of the looped tie up toward his thick neck red with passion for her.    

She slips into the tightest women's pants she could find at Frankenberg’s, a slim-line fit, ankle-length and most importantly in red.

Her eyes close briefly and she sighs, leaning into the bathroom counter, pleased with how the clothing makes her feel: different and still very much the same. Her bare arms rest at her sides, the burgundy tie slipped inside and Carol only just beginning to impatiently imagine how every fiber of clothing might be removed from her body.

\-----------------------

“Carol?” Therese whispers into the still, dark apartment. She turns on a light in the entryway. Again, “Carol?” her voice a shade louder. Her shoes and socks are quietly removed before gingerly she walks across wooden floors toward the bedroom. It’s dark, but within the shadows she can make out the bed is still made with no signs of anyone sleeping off a headache. She reaches for the light switch.

“Don’t” a familiar voice, though deeper, a domineering tone with hints of playful whimsy comes from the corner of the room. “Leave it dark.”

“What?” Therese confused, but obedient, her eyes straining to adjust to the lack of light.

“I said, keep it dark.” Something between an airy chuckle and rudeness descends along with it an impatient breath. “It’s me,” the voice and shadowy body coming toward her, “it's Lou.”

They stand in the dark, a foot apart. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you? How long?”

“Yes. My whole life.”

Therese begins to make out some of the details of Lou’s face where dark mascara circles her eyes. Her hair hangs straight, bangs falling down into her slowly blinking eyes. “Oh. Carol. You look so -- ”

“Call me Lou.” Another discreet step toward her and they’re pressed together, lips against Therese’s ear, the smell of mint gum and wool fabric, rough vest material rubbing against her arms. Strands of Lou’s hair rub against Therese’s cheek, lipstick makes a sliding trail of dark brownish red across her earlobe. Therese is quiet, unsure of how to react, not wanting to step too eagerly into her dream though her heart is pounding, her mind already in bed, multiple steps ahead of Lou. 

“Feel me.” Lou's pronouncement is both a cool-headed command and pensive prayer, the woman of Therese’s dreams tilts her head to the side, away from eyes and hands she wants on her body with unrelenting recklessness. “I’m real,” she says impatiently, her head still held to the side with cruel restraint. “I’m here, right in front of you. Get your head out of the clouds and touch me.”

Gently, Therese follows the instructions, placing two hands slowly on Lou’s face, feeling her in the darkness of her bedroom. Hands rest motionless at first, fingers gradually press into cheeks and jawline before traveling, caressing Lou’s chiseled face as a blind person examines someone for the first time, _seeing_ them with eyes made of flesh and bone, nerves and tendons. Therese glides over the bridge of Lou’s broad nose and down, feeling her breath coming in unhurried puffs. Finally, she finds her mouth and parts Lou’s firm, full lips with her fingers; they mix briefly with gums and teeth and Lou’s minty saliva.

“You’re even more beautiful in person” Therese says softly, moving her fingers back and forth in between the parted lips, pushing closer, feeling the gold buttons of Lou’s vest pressed hard against her stomach.

“You’re more beautiful too” Lou whispers with detachment, her voice is audible through the fingers still pressed firmly against her lips. She removes them with assertion, a militancy in how she clasps the fingers tightly in her own. With her other hand she reaches around, supporting the back of Therese’s head and falls into her without permission, a tongue immediately inside Therese’s mouth, the kiss between them intensifying quickly. Lou lowers the cradled head, pushing down, spinning her tongue deep, making swirling patterns with it much like those that decorate her tie. The movement of Lou’s tongue produces an electrical brain storm inside of Therese full of psychedelic colors: deep greens, reds and blues. She holds onto Lou's arm for balance.

“Take me to bed” Therese surrenders, a solitary finger tracing a vertical line on Lou’s plaid fabric, an irony prior to her own body about to fall prone into horizontal submission. She wraps her hand into a fist that tightly envelopes the burgundy necktie, pulling Lou, who follows her willingly toward the edge of the bed.

Therese turns on the nightstand lamp, soft light bathes the room and the two of them. “I want to see you,” she says with eyes traveling up and down, taking in every stitch of Lou’s fabric and exposed flesh of arms and partially bared chest.

“Do you?” Lou’s head rocks vaguely, self-satisfied watching Therese fall back and down into the soft bed. There is no movement for some time, each considering the other with a searing, dreamy gaze reaffirming  shared desire. With painstaking fluidity, Lou works each of the remaining clasped gold buttons of her vest, unbuttoning them with steely precision. The woman spectating, the one who’s been dreaming of her for days, a week, forever, searches for her next breath, a subconscious anticipating the final button’s unfastening. Lou releases it, her shoulders arch back, the vest opens up farther, exposing places Therese has seen before, but tonight it's as though she's seeing her for the very first time all over again.

“I love you, Lou.” Therese's voice choked and real, as bare as the breasts she urns to caress, time standing still between them, fantasy and reality face-to-face. Therese's eyes reach and plead, reaffirming her desire for this woman to be beside her,naked or fully clothed in whatever garment of any day or age and forever.

Lou’s eyes receive the sentiment with crushing emotion, closing briefly under the weight of it. “I’ve come for you, Therese, to take you away with me” she says, a time traveler with a metaphysical motorcycle parked just beyond their bedroom window, ready to transport them on twisted roads like the ones their intertwined bodies will soon traverse. Lou bends down, curved and yielding, reaching up, her hand on the knot of the necktie, pulling it, dragging it down with a painful, slow agenda, her eyes never deserting the woman she’s torturing. Therese watches, overcome with a dripping ache to touch every contour and fabric of Lou’s body, unravel one thread that will bare an entire soul.

“Shh” Lou says choking the necktie, continuing an arduous pull of burgundy-colored cotton, silk and polyester blends. Lou stops before the final tug, her greedy eyes darken like a seasoned thief before an elaborate jewel heist.

“Don’t” Therese with acute urgency “please, leave it on … daddy.”

“Well. Daddy, huh?” Lou’s amused, approving with a gamy, broad smile, her hands off the necktie, moving back to the vest, fully parting the restrictive 1950's garment, her shoulders hitched back farther, sliding it down her arms. The tie dangles around her long neck making contact, brushing against her bare, enlarging breasts. The vest lands on the floor, Therese’s desire on the ceiling.

“Go on” Lou says with eyes sliding from the tie to Therese and back. "Pull it."

Therese reaches and yanks, her force commensurate with the tingling, throbbing of every genital nerve, blood rushing to places where Lou’s hands and tongue will demand her full attention. The fantasy lands fully on top of her, Lou writhing, tugging urgently, slithering Therese out of each restrictive fiber, undressing her with forceful hands and at times teeth, mascara smearing, hair and fire in her eyes.

“Help me out of these damned pants” Lou aroused, trying to unzip the last of her own restrictions -- the tight-fitting red sheath pants.

Therese kneels beside her in the bed and commences with a wild yanking of red fabric down strong thighs, dragging the material off and with it dainty silk lingerie and a faint, lustful whimper from Lou.

They lie together, without attire, aside from one loosened necktie that Therese twists between her hands, pulling it firmly so that Lou’s head rests into her cheek.

“You’re my angel,” Therese whispers “flung out of -- " she can’t quite decide from where Lou’s flung.

“From out of your mind” Lou’s lips part and she kisses Therese before thrusting her fingers deep inside the girl's aching center.

Therese gasps. "Did you ride your motorcycle here?" She says in between groans of pleasure and half breaths, her eyes shut and Lou's lips exploring her neck.

"Oh, yes I road my bike here. I want you to ride away with me. Will you?" Lou's eyes sheer into hers, the rhythm and pace of her fingers slower, deeper, her mouth moving down to one of Therese's breasts.

"Oh, God, yes. I want to go with you. Take me." Their eyes connecting deeper and with it, the present and the future too, carrying them away together to both places. 

During the rocking passion, Lou’s hair dangles wildly in Therese’s face, her hands still clinging to the tie, pulling it closer until fantasy is reality and tightly smashed against every fiber of her being.

“Oh, Lou” Therese on the verge, staring into softening eyes, mascara streaks on both their faces, seeing  clearly, the eyes she knows so well, her hand incrementally letting go of the necktie, head jerked back in full passion. She screams out the name “Carol” into the night as she did their first time together.

Lou moves beside her, the burgundy tie the color of Therese’s cheeks, hangs around her neck, falling into the space between where the two of them lie. “Who the hell’s Carol?” she says, her head tilts back knowingly, as Carol's often does, bright eyes and upturning lips transform into a triumphant smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use of the tie in this conclusion chapter is perhaps not as some might have imagined, but I chose to portray the piece of clothing as a symbolic reminder of the flannel bathrobe "tie" scene from the film. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
